


Heart, could we bear the marvel of this thing?

by Szoraya



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Begging, Dad Shiro, Keith and Allura are vegan, Keith is 27, Keith is that guy who always looks effortlessly cool, Kidfic, Kiki is the only cool person in this fic, M/M, Multi, Pining, Sheith Big Bang 2017, Shiro is 28, Shiro is a Pining Mess, Teacher Keith, a fuckton of pining and denial and significant looks, background Allura/Lance, but is actually uncool as fuck and gets flustered so easily, he writes articles about medical advancements, oh and Shiro is a freelance writer!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szoraya/pseuds/Szoraya
Summary: "Healthy snacks. You got it." Shiro nods, doing his best to look as devoted as the woman with the pumps and the Victoria Beckham-hairstyle did talking to Keith before. "I prepare Kiki's lunchbox myself, and I always make sure she eats a varied diet and gets her, you know, five-a-day. You can count on me. You can count on us for sure." Another nod for emphasis.Keith's mouth twitches."I must've heard wrong today when she complained about how her dad can't even prepare frozen tater tots without burning them, then."-Shiro magically discovers that he’s very much a PTA dad when his daughter starts first grade. It has nothing to do with her teacher, Keith, unrighteously hot for a stupid name like that. Obviously.Accompanying art by Mary C





	Heart, could we bear the marvel of this thing?

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal gratitude to [Nez](https://nezraya-rakshasa-tenebrae.tumblr.com) for betaing and noticing stuff I would have never noticed,
> 
> And to [Mary C](http://artbymaryc.tumblr.com) for being my partner in this Big Bang project and drawing [amazing art](http://artbymaryc.tumblr.com/post/165300086342/art-for-szorayas-fic-for-the-sheithbigbang-ill) for this fic! 
> 
> (Side note: nsfw scene near the end, the only important bit plot-wise is the convo at the beginning, you won't miss anything if you skip the scene after that. Otherwise, this fic is pure sfw vanillaness with feelings.)

As always, Shiro wakes up at six without having set an alarm the night before, and opens his eyes to grey lights of dawn filtering through the gaps between the blinds. When Kiki was born, he used an alarm clock for a couple of months that he had set to ring every two hours throughout the night, just to check if she was okay.

(And maybe also just to look at her sleeping face, trying to get familiar with the idea that this was his daughter, a human being existing because of him, his new favorite person in the whole world. But he doesn’t admit that until he’s had at least a beer and a half.)

He does his usual morning routine – 20-minute workout, shower and a light breakfast – before waking Kiki.

Or attempting to, more like; it’s been five minutes and Shiro has so far been unsuccessful.

“Kiki, honey,” he says as gently as possible, but the fluff of black hair just wiggles itself lower under the blanket.

“Come on, sweetie. It’s your first day of school, come on, let’s get ready,” and it must be said that Shiro has a lot of patience, but the twelfth dissatisfied, pillow-muffled groan is starting to test the limits of that patience. He gives a theatrical sigh.

“Alright. Since this is a special day, I was going to make blueberry waffles for breakfast, but I guess we won’t have time for that, then.”

The fluff of hair stops wiggling and sits up slowly.

“There she is! She has a face! She’s alive after all!” Shiro exclaims, laughing.

Kiki ignores him, makes sure there’s still a bit of disdain showing on her face, and says as nonchalantly as possible, “Frozen waffles?”

Shiro rolls his eyes.

“Yes, frozen waffles. We don’t even have the waffle maker anymore. It was too badly charred so I threw it away.”

Kiki slowly climbs off the bed and drags herself to the bathroom, mumbling something that sounds too much like _thank God_ for it not to sting a little.

 

* * *

 

“Are you _sure_ this is necessary? Is there absolutely _no way_ we can avoid it?”

“Yes, Kiki, I’m sure it’s necessary. It is against the law for children not to go to school. You liked kindergarten though, what’s with the fuss now?”

They’ve been sitting in the car parked in front of the school for ten minutes now, and Shiro feels for her, he really does; school is daunting.

Kiki shrugs, a no-big-deal kind of shrug, but Shiro is not so easily fooled.

“It’s nothing, I guess. How long do I have to stay here again?”

“I mean – twelve years, pretty much?”

Kiki rolls her eyes. “I meant today.”

“Oh. Just until two. I’ll be right here when you come out. So what is it, then? You know you can tell me, whatever it is.”

“Nothing, really,” Kiki shrugs. “I liked kindergarten. I’m a little sad I won’t be in the same class as Rosie anymore. She was kind of cool. And she had this huge bucket full of different colored chalks. Like, three hundred different colors.”

She seems to pause, then, pursing her mouth.

“We’ll get you chalks later. Is that it?”

“I guess I’ll also miss you and mom. Just a bit. Because it was summer break and I didn’t have to be anywhere. Not because I’m a baby. I don’t want you to be there always, but what if I want you to be there when I’m at school?”

Shiro wants to cry. But he doesn’t. He’s a responsible parent, doing responsible parenting.

“Honey – you went to kindergarten for a whole year. You got used to that pretty quickly, didn’t you? Besides, if you need anything, you can always ask your teacher. And it’s only for a few hours. I’ll be here at two.”

Kiki sighs.

“I guess I just hate the getting used to bit. I wish I had fairy godparents like Timmy and I would wish the getting used to bit didn’t exist.”

And really, all Shiro wants to say is, ‘We can go home and you don’t have to do this,’ but he knows he can’t. So instead he says, “It will pass so quickly you won’t even notice. You’ve done this before, sweetie. It will be fine.”

He smiles as reassuringly as he can, and Kiki seems to hesitate, then, like she wants to say something else just so she can stay in the car a bit longer, but ends up saying, with a determined nod, “Right. So – I guess I’ll go find a teacher-looking adult to help me find my class, then.” She reaches for the door handle, about to get out.

Shiro barks out a surprised laugh. “Not so fast, sweetie, I’m walking you.”

They go up to the teacher on duty who points them in the direction of a group of kids, looking as shy and anxious as first-graders usually are, some holding onto their parents, some already warily trying to make friends. When they join the group, Kiki looks around, eyes lingering on each kid for a few seconds, as if sizing them up already, deciding who’s friend-material. When she seems to be done, she turns to Shiro.

“You can go now, dad.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine, dad, don’t worry.”

Shiro smiles and crouches down. “I don’t want to ruin your reputation right on your first day, but can I get a goodbye hug?”

Kiki smiles. “Yes, you can.”

She practically leaps at Shiro, clinging to him for longer than usual.

“Will you really be here at two? You won’t be late?” Kiki’s voice is so small and unsure it makes Shiro’s heart squeeze.

“Am I ever late?”

Kiki seems to hesitate for a bit, then shakes her head no. Shiro smiles.

“I won’t start today, honey. I’ll be here. In fact, I’ll be here at one forty-five, just in case your teacher lets you out early. I promise. Okay?”

That seems to placate Kiki’s nerves a bit; she smiles.

“Okay. You promised so I believe you.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now go join the others,” Shiro says, making a shooing motion with his hands.

Kiki gives a nod and starts walking, calling back a “Bye, dad!” halfway, and all Shiro can think as he waves back is that he has to wait until he’s back in his car before he starts crying because Kiki would never, ever, in a million years, let him live that down.

 

* * *

 

Shiro cries in his car. To Whitney Houston. For ten minutes.

 

* * *

 

By eleven, Shiro has given up trying to work. He’s sitting on the couch watching TV, and he’s just considering going for a run to will the time to move faster when the doorbell rings. It’s Pidge and Hunk, holding big white bags of what Shiro assumes is take-away from the Indian place around the corner.

He tries to look stern but smiles despite himself.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be working?”

Pidge rolls her eyes and shuffles past Shiro.

“Like that’s what you’ve been doing. We figured you’d be moping about, not knowing what to do without the constant background noise of the child wonder.”

Hunk holds up the bags, smiling. “We got Indian.”

 

* * *

 

“So, have you been to the school yet? Met her teachers and all that jazz?” Pidge asks around a mouthful of dal, sitting on the plush rug in front of the sofa, legs crossed, bowl balancing precariously on her knee.

Shiro shakes his head. “No, but Rachel has. She’s a lot better with stuff like that, so I don’t mind.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t fight you on the location, though. It’s a fifty-minute drive for her, right? Seems like a long way if she’s still going to take Kiki every weekend.”

Shiro chews and swallows before he speaks again (because he’s got manners, unlike some people that he won’t mention by name, because he’s a nice person).

“Actually, we agreed that from now on she’ll only take her every two weeks. Kiki needs more stability now that she’s in first grade. She’ll stay the whole weekend at Rachel’s, though. She’ll take her to school every other Monday.”

Hunk makes a thinking-humming noise from the couch. “Yeah, that makes sense. Was it your idea or hers?”

“Mine. She wasn’t very fond of it at first, but she did agree that Kiki needs more stability. And we’re still doing the family date-thing once a month, so it’s not like she doesn’t get to spend enough time with her.”

Hunk snorts.

“I swear you’re the only ex-couple I know that still has dates. I’m not sure I can be convinced that it’s normal.”

Shiro rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, right, because hating each other and having a bribe-war to make your child love you more is normal. As is everything else that the vast majority of the population does, as always.”

“He didn’t mean it like that, dude,” Pidge says. “We know they’re for Kiki’s sake anyway. I think the reason Hunk thinks it’s weird is because...well, you did split up, didn’t you? What if someone else comes into the picture? How will you explain it to the other person? You’ll just be like, ‘hey, by the way, I still have dates with my ex because we want our child to be happy,’ or what?”

“Yes, Pidge, that would be...a perfectly acceptable explanation, actually, wanting your child to be happy. Besides, Rachel’s got a boyfriend now and he’s perfectly fine with it.”

“What?” Hunk exclaims. “Since when? Why haven’t you said so?”

“We broke up four years ago and neither of us has dated since – or, well, up until now. So it really isn’t that surprising that she’s got someone now. And I haven’t said anything because it’s none of your business, you nosy buggers.”

“Rude,” Pidge pipes up from the carpet. She is now lying down, hands clasped and resting on her stomach. “Anyway, are we going to play some ball before Shiro has to pick up his spawn or what?”

She doesn’t seem to give much of a shit about the Rachel-issue anymore, and Shiro is fine with that, so much so that he doesn’t even tell Pidge off for referring to Kiki as his ‘spawn’.

They play some ball.

 

* * *

 

And still, when he’s sitting in his car in front of the school, Shiro is a ball of nerves. He’s humming _All Of Me_ by Billie Holiday, staring at the gates, willing them to open, and he sees the braids first – the braids he spent half an hour on this morning, and then he sees Kiki’s face, and she’s smiling, and  _God_ , Shiro feels like a huge fucking brick has been lifted off his chest and he can finally _breathe_.

He rolls down the window and waves. “Kiki! I’m over here!”

And when Kiki sees him, she smiles even brighter and runs towards him.

“Dad!”

Shiro opens the car door for her, and she climbs right over the passenger seat and hugs him.

“You were right! Today was so quick, and I even forgot about worrying. And I knew you would be here when I came out! First grade is _so_ much more grown-up than kindergarten. At least I think so. I asked Mr Kogane and he said it was a bit more grown-up, but I know it’s actually _very_ grown-up, they just don’t want to scare us because we’re just kids. But I’m more grown-up so I understand. Do you want to know how I know?”

Shiro laughs. “Of course I do. And you can tell me that and more while we have ice cream in the park. I have your roller blades too. What do you say, hm?”

“What do I _say_? I say you’re the best dad ever, dad!”

 

* * *

 

“I mean, Miss Weaver was nice. But Mr Kogane speaks so much more grown-up. He tells us all these interesting things. The other kids go ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ every time because they think it’s just for fun, but we will need to know all these things for like, paying for stuff and knowing stuff, when we’re old like you. And after lunch we sit cross-legged and close our eyes and take big breaths and focus. I’m pretty sure we will need that too, when we get tired of paying for things and stuff like that. And the other kids probably don’t know that it’s because they’re preparing us for the _real_ world. That’s why it’s called first grade. Because it’s the first step.”

Shiro nods seriously.

“Hmm. The first step to what?”

“To growing up, dad. But it’s scary, growing up. So they are – easying us into it.”

“Easing. Yeah, I see your point, Kiki.”

Kiki flips her hair behind her shoulder.

“That’s what I said. Anyway, Mr Kogane is the coolest adult I’ve met. I mean, he’s more okay than most of you.”

Shiro clutches at his chest.

“You wound me, Kiki. He’s even cooler than me?”

Kiki pops the last bit of her cone into her mouth and nods casually.

“Definitely. Can we go roller blading now?”

 

* * *

 

“ _They do yoga? Wow. Millie said it was a great school, but I’m still pleasantly surprised. I mean, it’s a state school, you don’t expect that kind of thing at a state school. That’s so nice. Kiki definitely needs that._ ”

“Yeah. I was surprised, too. But I’m glad you handled the school-choosing and all. I probably would have just chosen the closest one.”

There’s laughter on the other end of the line.

_“Yeah, I bet. Did she make any friends?”_

“Yeah. A girl named Fiona and a boy named Xavier. They sound like troublemakers. A perfect match for Kiki, really.”

_“With names like that, I bet they are.”_

“Don’t be mean, Rachel. Kiki isn’t the most common name, either.”

_“Maybe. But at least it doesn’t sound like a musical instrument.”_

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week is much easier. Kiki seems to have found permanent friendship with Fiona and Xavier – as permanent as three six-year-olds’ week-old friendship can be –, and she still thinks Mr Kogane is the ‘okayest’ adult around. Shiro was worried it would take a bit of time for her to get used to school, but he really shouldn’t have been. He was the same before kindergarten, and everything went fine back then, too.

It’s Friday, he’s just said goodbye to Kiki – he doesn’t get out of the car anymore, because _I’m not a baby, dad_ –, and he’s about to drive away when he sees that Kiki’s lunch bag is on the passenger seat. He grabs it and jumps out of the car, hoping to find his daughter before the bell signalling first period goes off.

He’s in the building when he realises that he doesn’t even know where Kiki’s classroom is. He’s too embarrassed to ask someone, and by the time he finds it, first period has already started and the classroom door is closed. He contemplates just leaving it outside on the bench in front of Kiki’s locker, but quickly dismisses the idea.

He peers through the slightly tinted glass and sees a slim figure perched on the desk in the front. Feeling a bit awkward, Shiro waves until the figure turns his way, then turns back and seems to say something to the class before walking to the door and opening it.

Shiro is surprised, because Mr Kogane is apparently very young, probably younger than Shiro. No, definitely. He also has blue eyes, which Shiro only notices for the briefest second, because his frown is scary and Shiro did _not_ think this through.

“Yes?” Presumably-Mr-Kogane asks, and wow, Shiro was not aware there were people other than Pidge who were capable of squeezing that amount of disdain into one single syllable.

“Oh, um – is this Mr Kogane’s class?”

The frown eases up. Slightly.

“It is, yes. What can I –”

Shiro thrusts the lunch bag at him awkwardly and says, “I’m Kiki’s dad. I’m so sorry to interrupt your class like this, but she left her lunch in the car. Can you please give this to her, but maybe – as discreetly as possible? I really don’t want to embarrass her.”

The frown disappears, and a slight smile takes its place, and Shiro’s brain once again provides the useful observation that Mr Kogane’s eyes are blue.

“Ah, yes, we wouldn’t want to see the consequences to that,” Mr Kogane says, with a smile just about hinting at the fact that he has become familiar enough with Kiki to know it’s best to stay on her good side. “Well, I’ll make sure to give this to Kiki, Mr – I’m sorry, I don’t actually know which one your name is, since Kiki’s name is hyphenated.”

“Shirogane,” Shiro supplies helpfully. He notes that Mr Kogane already knows Kiki’s full name, which either means he’s a very attentive teacher or that Kiki is a particularly...distinguished student. Based on Mr Kogane’s comment a moment before, it’s the latter, and Shiro doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Mr Shirogane. Nice meeting you.” With that, he goes back to the classroom, and Shiro is _so_ relieved to see that he doesn’t give the bag to Kiki immediately.

 

* * *

 

Hunk laughs so hard he misses the hoop by a full feet.

“Oh, man. The funniest thing is how you have this I-got-my-shit-together vibe going for you, but then you do stuff like that and suddenly you’re mortal like the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Pidge interjects. “Now all Kiki will ever be remembered for at school is being the daughter of the embarrassing dad who interrupted class for two badly made pbj sandwiches. That’s just sad.”

“Hey,” Shiro protests. “Maybe I’m not the best cook, but it’s not like you can mess up a pbj. It was cheese and pickles, anyway.” He pauses. “And you’re being mean.”

Hunk passes the basketball to Shiro.

“No one gives a shit about stuff like that, man. Especially not a first grade teacher barely making enough to get by. And it’s not that embarrassing anyway, it’s just so easy to tease you.” Hunk pauses then, giving a sheepish smile because he’s an angel and he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, and adds, “Sorry.”

Shiro aims for the hoop and the ball briefly dances on the rim before falling off to the side. He stares at it as it bounces on the concrete and slowly rolls off into the untrimmed grass between the court and the fence.

“It’s parent-teacher night next Wednesday. I hope he won’t remember. Although I’m sure he will. It’s not like we’ll have to talk, though, it’s not a one-on-one thing. Do you dress up for these things? I don’t have any decent shirts.”

Hunk and Pidge share a look.

“A t-shirt is fine, Shiro,” Hunk says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

Shiro nods solemnly and goes to get the ball. When he turns back, a familiar figure is approaching their group. It’s Lance.

“What’s up, dudes and Pidge?”

“Shiro is freaked out about his first parent-teacher meeting,” Pidge offers while Lance makes his rounds fist-bumping everyone. He insists on making an explosion sound each time, too, which at first Shiro found childish for a grown man, but has since grown fond of it, and thinks of it as a fundamental part of Lance’s personality.

He’s only known him for a little while, and he’s not as close with him as he is with Hunk and Pidge, mostly because Hunk and Pidge have been part of his life since college, and they’ve been by his side through thick and thin. Lance is a childhood friend of Hunk’s, but because his gap year after high school turned into three, he finished graduate school late, and he only just moved out to join his friends as a working adult last year. Shiro likes Lance; he fits into their friend group nicely (even though it took him six months to give up his flirting attempts, but only because he met someone else, who he claims is even more ‘ethereally beautiful’ than Shiro).

“Oh. Why won’t Rachel go?”

“She lives an hour away. I’m supposed to be handling things like this in Kiki’s life.” Shiro shrugs and passes the ball to Lance.

Now there’s four of them, they start playing two-on-two and play in silence for a few minutes.

“Hey, Lance, since you’re a teacher too and all, I trust your opinion more on this – is it okay to wear a t-shirt to a parent-teacher conference?”

 

* * *

 

A lot of parents are wearing t-shirts for the parent-teacher conference. That and the fact that he managed to find an empty spot in the back corner of the room calms him down enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s inevitably going to do something wrong anymore. In fact, the thought seems silly now; why would he do something wrong? This is an informative school meeting for his daughter who goes here, not an interrogation.

Just as he’s getting out his notepad and reading glasses (just to make sure he remembers everything important), a slim figure slips through the doorway, kicks out the wedge holding the door open and closes it.

It takes Shiro a moment to realise it’s Mr Kogane. His hair is done up in a sloppy bun on the back of his head today, some of it having come loose, falling in wavy strands across his forehead and the side of his face. He’s also wearing glasses. Which is different to how he looked when Shiro first saw him, which is why he notices.

“Good evening, everyone,” Mr Kogane starts, hands loosely clasped in front of himself. “I’m Keith Kogane, and I’m teaching your children this year.”

Shiro inwardly cringes. He’s only known two Keiths in his life: one of them was a grumpy old neighbour from his hometown who shouted at him on a weekly basis, even though Shiro swears he was the least troublesome teenager ever, and the other was this Southern-type truck driver his sister dated in her twenties. (Shiro didn’t understand then and doesn’t now.) This guy is just...so not a Keith.

“Some of you have met me, but I’m definitely seeing new faces in the crowd.” He pauses, eyes scanning over the room, and smiles. It’s a kind, confident smile.

“Let me start off by saying, all your children are amazing little humans.” Some parents chuckle. “No, seriously. Each and every one of them. The transition from kindergarten to first grade is hard. But they are taking it very gracefully. If some of you are worried about this meeting, please don’t be. We’re only here for routine stuff. We’re mostly supposed to talk about the stuff passed on to me from the school board and the PTA. But I’m going to try and keep that part short. It’s boring.” His smiling eyes flick over the room again.

“Oh, and I know this is such a cliche young teacher thing to say, but please, do call me Keith. I would prefer if we were all on a first-name basis, given the fact that we’re basically raising children together.”

Some of the parents chuckle, and Mr Kogane – Shiro decides that he gets to give himself a bit more time to come to terms with the fact that the guy’s name is _Keith_ – quirks a smile, too, and it feels – looks – like a relieved smile, like he wasn’t sure if that was an okay thing to say, or if it was funny.

True to his word, he keeps the ‘boring’ part short. He quickly rattles off some health and safety information, reading from a piece of paper embellished with the school’s header. He’s a very confident and clear speaker, sophisticated, even, which is in sharp contrast with his sleazy hair and jeans and white v-neck t-shirt and open plaid button-up and his small frame and semi-rimless glasses. He sounds teacher-y but doesn’t _look_ teacher-y, that’s the only reason Shiro notices all that.

Afterwards, he reads a welcome message from the PTA, digging through the pile of papers stacked on the edge of his desk. When he seems to find what he has been looking for, he pauses, skimming through what’s written on it. He grimaces, says “Sorry about this,” and passes it to the parent sitting in front of him, telling her to read it and pass it along.

It takes a few minutes before the form gets passed to Shiro. It reads, _Please sign your name, the name and class of your child and your email address if you wish to be part of the Parent-Teacher Association. Please only take on this responsibility if you are willing to take the time and effort to actively partake in PTA meetings and the organizing of extracurricular events, not just in your child’s class, but school-wide, too. Thank you, the Parent-Teacher Association._

It sounds horrible. Shiro doesn’t even know what the ‘responsibilities’ include, but the way it’s worded makes it sound like the last thing he would want to be part of. There are a handful of names already written on there; he guesses they don’t need too many parents from the same class, and he doesn’t have too much to offer anyway, so he decides not to sign his name.

“...monthly PTA meetings are the standard unless there’s a special event or something coming up. Your usual charity fundraisers once in a while, and of course, I will need chaperones for field trips and such. That’s pretty much it.” Mr Kogane says in answer to a parent’s question Shiro didn’t pay attention to.

On second thought, he might sign his name after all. Rachel would want him to sign his name. She would want to be part of it herself if she had time to come down here on weekdays. He has to do it for her. So he does: he puts down his information and passes the piece of paper. Because of Rachel.

The rest of the meeting is more personal, and, Shiro thinks, is Mr Kogane’s own addition, not part of the mandatory program.

He talks about his teaching philosophy, and how they spend their days, and the ways he’s trying to teach the kids to speak more honestly and listen more carefully.

His hands are no longer clasped together and instead become part of his speech, and he walks sometimes, or perches on the edge of his desk.

His speech is more slippery, erratic, but he still maintains a professional aura around himself that demands to be taken seriously.

Shiro hasn’t the faintest idea how long he – Keith – has been talking when he glances at the clock and says, “Alright, I think that’s enough of me talking nonsense today.”

Shiro feels like he’s been pulled out of a warm, dim-lit bath.

“If you have any questions you’d like to ask me personally, I’m going to stay here for a bit. Let me just say one last thing; just – I really think every child has potential. And I also think a lot of people misunderstand that phrase. By this, I don’t mean every child has potential to succeed. I hear that word used in regards to children’s future a lot more than I hear happiness. By this, I mean every child has the potential to be _happy_. And for that, we have to recognise what would make them happy, not what would make them what we see as successful. That’s our jobs as parents, caretakers, teachers – that’s what I would like to do, that’s why I’m here, and I’m hoping that we can be partners in that this coming year.”

He pauses and gives them all a small smile, smaller than before, but the warmest. The warmest he’s looked today.

Shiro slips out unnoticed behind the swarm of parents gathering in front of Keith’s desk.

 

* * *

 

Shiro gets his first email from the PTA two days later. It’s Friday and Rachel has Kiki for the weekend, which means that Shiro has time to catch up on things he otherwise tends to neglect, which includes checking his inbox for anything not work-related.

The email is a welcome letter from the association as well as an invitation to the charity bake sale taking place next Friday, and it’s unnecessarily long-winded, so Shiro just skims through it, and promptly decides he won’t go. While the email doesn’t outright _forbid_ parents from bringing store-bought stuff, it _strongly recommends_ home-baking, and Shiro can’t bake for shit.

...He _could_ buy a twelve-pack of muffins and then maybe put icing on them to make them look like homemade cupcakes, because he’s pretty sure it’s impossible to fuck up icing. (Right?) But even thinking about it, he gets shudders from the idea of sitting there, having some stern-faced PTA mom click-clack her way over to his table and ask if he’s made them himself. (He’s just really bad at lying, okay? He’ll stutter and stammer and give himself away within seconds.) So, no. The bake sale is a no-go for him.

 

* * *

 

Keith is overseeing pick-up on Tuesday afternoon. Shiro notices him while he’s waiting for Kiki to finish ceramics class. (Her choice, and she was very adamant on it. Shiro didn’t even bat an eye, not after last year’s weaving.) He’s talking to a woman who nods along seriously to everything he says. His hair is up in a high ponytail today, and he’s wearing a soft-looking, olive green jumper, fitting black jeans and casual dark brown oxfords.

Shiro has a fleeting thought that he looks more like a college dropout that goes on and on about the conspiracy behind the criminalization of marijuana and how much he despises capitalism than a first-grade teacher.

He doesn’t realize his eyes stay lingering until a wave interrupts his musings. Keith is gesturing at him to get out of the car. Shiro’s stomach does a tiny flip. He wants him to go over there? Why?

Maybe Kiki did something. But if it was serious, he would know already, right? Maybe he just wants to talk, but about what? Shit. Shit, he’s wearing sweatpants, and he’s got a toothpaste stain on his shirt from this morning, he tried to wash it but it’s still there faintly, because he was like, fuck it, no one’s going to see it anyway, he isn’t prepared –

As Shiro approaches, Keith gives him a small nod and a smaller smile, which soothes Shiro’s nerves. It can’t be too bad, then.

“Good afternoon, Mr Shirogane.”

“Good afternoon. And please – call me Shiro. We’re raising children together, right?” Shiro lets out a chuckle. (Or a choke, depending on who you ask.)

Keith’s eyebrows twitch, like he’s – amused? Oh, _God_ , Shiro is _so_ lame, he should have known that joke was only funny in a classroom setting.

Finally, mouth still curled slightly upwards, Keith nods.

“Alright. So, Shiro – I saw you put your name down for the PTA. I am in charge of the charity bake sale on Friday, and it would be nice to see as many faces from my own class as possible. Are you planning on joining us?”

...What was Shiro’s reason for not wanting to go again? He can’t remember.

“Ah, yeah, I was – planning to, yeah. Yeah, we’re definitely coming.”

Keith smiles. The kind that paints tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and Shiro feels this sudden urge to look away. He doesn’t know why.

“And, um, are there any – requirements? As in, what to bring?”

He knows this already. Why the _fuck_ is he asking?

“Well, the only requirement is that it’s healthy, really. Almost anything is fine, just make sure it doesn’t have any refined sugar. It’s also nice to have a few gluten-free and vegan options at the sale, just to make sure no one feels left out, but that’s not a requirement. Only if you want to.”

Shiro is pretty sure he doesn’t want to. He’s not even sure he knows what those mean.

"Healthy snacks. You got it." Shiro nods, doing his best to look as devoted as the woman with the pumps and the Victoria Beckham-hairstyle did talking to Keith before. "I prepare Kiki's lunchbox myself, and I always make sure she eats a varied diet and gets her, you know, five-a-day. You can count on me. You can count on us for sure." Another nod for emphasis.

Keith's mouth twitches.

"I must've heard wrong today when she complained about how her dad can't even prepare frozen tater tots without burning them, then."

Shiro feels a hot flush overtake his cheeks within seconds. Traitor. His daughter is a traitor.

He’s saved from trying to come up with an answer by said little traitor barrelling into his legs.

“Hi, dad! Why are you talking to Mr Kogane? Did I do something?”

Shiro and Keith both laugh.

“Hi, sweetie. No, you didn’t. At least I hope not.” He glances over at Keith, who shakes his head a little, smiling. “Mr Kogane and I were just talking about what to bring to the bake sale this Friday.”

“Bake sale? What’s that?”

“It’s an event where you bring – where you bring a cake or cookies to the school and you sell them, and you use the money for something good.” Shiro deliberately does not say the word _baking_.

Kiki seems to contemplate this for a moment.

“That sounds pretty cool,” she says after a moment, and Shiro almost thinks he’s off the hook when – “you’ll ask mom or Hunk to make the cake though, right? You’re a disaster in the kitchen.”

This would be the moment where Shiro gets embarrassed if he weren’t too stunned by the laugh coming from Keith. It’s a hearty laugh, raspy and all teeth, like it was surprised out of him. Shiro’s stomach gives a funny tug at that, and he can’t help but smile despite himself.

“Alright, Kiki, I think you’ve gotten your weekly dose of embarrassing me. Let’s go home and do a cookie test run, hmm?”

They say their goodbyes; Shiro has a pleasant feeling buzzing under his skin for hours afterwards.

 

* * *

 

(They do the cookie test run. It’s inedible.)

 

* * *

 

Hunk looks surprised – not by Shiro’s request, obviously, since he’s been the one making Kiki’s birthday cake for years now.

“Sure,” he says slowly, “I can whip up something. Although – no offense, Shiro, but you’re really not the PTA type. How come you joined?”

Shiro shrugs, not quite meeting Hunk’s eyes. “Rachel would want to join if she lived closer. She was very happy when I told her I joined, and it’s not that bad anyway. Just a meeting or two a month.”

Hunk hums in response, the doubtful kind that you respond with when you don’t quite believe someone but don’t want to question them either.

“So – what did you have in mind? Brownies okay?”

“Yeah, sure. But – Kiki’s teacher said it can’t have any refined sugar? Is that doable?”

“Of course,” Hunk nods. “Anything else?”

Hunk looks surprised when Shiro explains to him that he would like it to also be either gluten-free, nut-free or vegan, but says he’ll think of something.

(Kiki insists on making the brownies with Hunk, saying she wants to learn since her dad doesn’t know how to bake – she enunciates her statement with a pointed look at Shiro – and ends up eating so much of it that they have to make a whole new batch again.)

 

* * *

 

Shiro and Kiki arrive at the bake sale early, and Shiro is glad for that. Being early means that not many of the tables are taken, and they manage to find one tucked away by the window in the far corner of the room, partly hidden in the otherwise intimidatingly open space.

As soon as they settle down at the table and Kiki’s stuffed one of Hunk’s absolutely divine brownies into her mouth in two huge bites (made with something called stevia instead of sugar that Shiro’s never heard of before), she gets up and walks around the table.

“Alright, dad, see you around.”

“Wait, what? Where are you going?”

Kiki looks at him like he’s crazy.

“You didn’t think I was going to stay here the whole time, right? Xavier is here with his moms, too. Why would we sit at separate tables and be bored when we can go around stuffing ourselves with sweets?”

“Oh, but –”

Shiro didn’t actually consider the possibility of having to sit through this one alone, but thinking about it now, he doesn’t even know how he could have thought his troublemaker of a daughter would stay put the whole time. He sighs and digs into his pocket for some money.

“Alright, here. But don’t have too much. I’m not staying up rubbing your belly until four a.m. again like last time.”

(He would and he probably will.)

Kiki nods and takes off.

There are only a few people lingering around the room so far, and Shiro lets his eyes wander, wonders if the few parents already behind the tables were just as nervous about using the right kind of sweetener as he was. Hunk assured him it was fine, though.

He also wonders if, when it quiets down a bit, they feel just as stupid being worried about such things. Zooming out on their lives so far that fucking _stevia_ looks like the speck of insignificant dust that it is. Invisible. Thinking _shit_ , it is _so_ easy to get lost in stuff that doesn’t matter. But he’s learning. And everyone tells him he looks confident, like he ‘has his shit together.’ So if he can fake it, he can make it, too, right?

(Eventually.)

As his eyes wander over to the table opposite his, his eyes catch on a familiar figure.

“Lance?”

The figure turns around.

“Shiro! Hi! Oh, wow, I didn’t know Kiki went here! Oakwood is a lot closer to you, isn’t it?”

Lance walks over and takes a brownie, throws a few dollar bills on the table.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles around a mouthful, “Hunk’s, right?”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods. “Wait, do you teach here? How come I didn’t know this?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know, dude. You know now.”

“What grade do you teach?”

Lance holds up two fingers; his mouth is occupied by three quarters of a brownie.

This is when they’re approached by a dark-skinned woman, long white hair put up in a ponytail.

“Who are you bothering again, Lance?” She looks at Shiro, furrowing her brows, like she’s trying to recall something, when – “Wait, are you Hunk’s friend? Shiro? The guy Lance crushed on for a solid six months?” She grins. “I’m Allura.”

Lance gives a muffled protest at that; they both ignore him.

Shiro stands up and shakes Allura’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Allura. I’m guessing you’re the person who’s ‘even more beautiful’ than I am?”

Shiro cannot believe that just came out of his mouth. But Allura just laughs. “Apparently so. Although I would argue with that.”

“Hey!” Lance appears to have won his battle with the brownie. “At least wait until I’m out of earshot before you start flirting with each other.” He shakes his head. “This is why I haven’t introduced you two. You can’t have this much gorgeous in the same room. It’s just wrong.”

Allura goes to wipe some brownie crumbs off Lance’s face and kisses the spot lightly.  “According to that logic, you shouldn’t even be in a room by yourself.” She frowns. “Did I do that right?”

Shiro stares for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “I would assume so, if that blush I see rising up on Lance’s face is anything to go by.”

Allura pumps the air. “Yes! I’m starting to get back at him for using those stupid pick-up lines on me. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.” She sits on the edge of Shiro’s table. “I was kind of annoyed by them at first, you know. I have no idea when and why I started to like him instead of wanting to swat him like an annoying fly.”

Shiro laughs at the rude remark, but can’t help the fond feeling he gets at the way she says it, clearly affectionate; at the way they look at each other. But beside the fondness, a dull pang of longing settles itself into his chest, too; it’s been so long since he’s looked at someone like that. Had someone look at him like that. And he realizes, in a slightly dizzying swoop, that he wants it. Wants to feel like that again.

The couple keep entertaining him, which mostly consists of Allura embarrassing Lance or making him blush, and Lance getting flustered and protesting half-heartedly.

It’s so sweet and nice, their rhythm, their vibes, their affection for each other, and he’s a little jealous of them. And it makes him panic a little bit, because Kiki’s happiness has been his number one priority for the past six years, and the desire to have something just for himself for the first time in so long is intimidating.

“Why are you guys annoying this poor parent trying to sell his brownies?”

Shiro’s head whips up. He’s been so caught up in his internal mini-crisis that he didn’t even notice someone else walking up to his table.

It’s Keith. What Shiro notices right away is that his hair is in a half updo today: the top part is tied back in a small, messy ponytail, the rest of it hanging loose around his neck. His black half-rimmed glasses have been swapped for a brown pair, and the way he’s dressed has Shiro’s eyes on him longer than necessary (but only because he looks more casual than before): he’s wearing light denim dungarees, pants cuffed, with a white shirt and a pair of black Converse.

Keith is smiling at him when his eyes find their way back to his face. “Hi, Shiro. What’s in the brownies?”

“Oh, um – stevia.”

Keith chuckles. “Only that?”

Shiro can feel the tips of his ears going pink. “No, um – there’s chocolate, cinnamon, and flour, not gluten-free unfortunately, but – but it’s sugar-free, and vegan.”

Keith’s eyes light up. “Really? I’ll take one, please.” He holds out some money and Shiro takes it carefully, makes sure not to touch him, although he doesn’t quite understand why.

“You two know each other?” Lance asks.

“His daughter is in my class,” Keith explains. “Why? How do you know –” A kind of amused understanding that Shiro really, really doesn’t like for some reason, slowly dawns on Keith’s face. “Lance –”

“No,” Lance says immediately.

“Is it possible that Shiro’s the one you had that epic cru –”

“No,” it’s Shiro who interrupts him this time. “I’m not going through this again.” He thrusts a brownie at Keith and turns to Allura.

“So, Allura, Lance said you also teach here. What grade?”

“Fourth. And nice save.” She hold out a fist for him to bump. Shiro is surprised by the familiar gesture, but decides it feels nice, being talked to like he’s old friends with someone instead of doing small talk. He’s always been terrible at small talk. Their fist bump is interrupted by a moan that has Shiro freeze for a second.

“God,” Keith says. “This is probably the best brownie I’ve ever had. Did you make it?”

Shiro hates lying, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been so tempted to lie before in his life. Which is – confusing.

But Lance’s roaring laugh interrupts him before he can pull his thoughts together to answer.

“As if! I doubt Kiki would have developed such a prematurely sarcastic sense of humor if she hadn’t been subjected to Shiro insisting on cooking for her throughout her short life.” He laughs again. “Hunk made them, obviously.”

Shiro pouts. “You’ve never even had my cooking before, you’re just basing this off of what Kiki has told you. Kids are picky. And she gets her sarcastic sense of humor from her mother, obviously.”

Lance clutches at his chest. “Ah, yes, Rachel. I’ve only met her once, but I will carry that horrible sting of rejection with me my whole life.” He turns to Keith and asks something about pick-up duty, so Shiro tunes out of the conversation.

Allura hops off Shiro’s table and hands him enough money for two more brownies.

“If I only take one, Lance will end up eating it for sure,” she mutters, only loud enough for Shiro to hear.

Shiro chuckles. “There’s plenty of stuff like this going around on weekends at Hunk’s,” he says. “Have you met him? And Pidge?”

“I’ve met Hunk, but not Pidge. Lance, apparently, ‘is not ready for a power duo to merge and roast him into oblivion’, whatever that means. He said something similar about you, but I don’t see the problem.” She grins for a second, then lowers her voice. “He doesn’t show it, but he’s a little insecure; I think he needs more time to actually believe me when I say I love him. He was so jealous of Keith at first. He didn’t say it outright, but the way he tried to one-up him all the time made it obvious.”

“Keith? Why was he jealous of him?”

Allura shrugs. “Keith is my best friend. Has been since he started teaching here five years ago.” She smiles. “It took Lance a while to figure out he’s not a threat. They like each other quite a bit now, I think, but they wouldn’t admit it if their lives depended on it.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Anyway, I think he’s mostly just scared because you guys are important to him, and he wants us to get along well, so he’s been putting off introducing us.”

“Well, he’s been putting it off for long enough. What do you say we take matters into our own hands?”

They grin at each other.

“Lance,” Allura says, voice sweet like honey. “Shiro just so happened to mention that you’re secretly having heavenly sweets at Hunk’s on weekends. Is that true?” Lance stares at her, trapped. “It’s alright if Keith and I join this weekend, right?”

Keith? Keith is coming, too?

Lance pouts. “Fine. We might as well get this over with.”

“Um – I don’t remember anyone asking me if I wanted to go,” Keith says.

“Do you want to come?” It comes out of Shiro’s mouth but it feels alien. Like a bolder, more open version of him occupied his head for the span of two seconds and pushed the question out, only to disappear just as fast and leave chicken-Shiro embarrassed and wondering why the _fuck_ he asked that. From a stranger he’s met three times, and who’s also his daughter’s teacher.

“Um,” Keith seems just as surprised as Shiro feels. “Yeah?”

“Great!” Allura claps her hands. “That’s settled, then. Shiro, I’ll get your number from Lance, if you don’t mind; otherwise, he’ll _accidentally_ forget to take me with him. Lance, we’re supposed to be watching the bake sale, let’s go.”

“But Keith is supposed to –”

Allura grabs Lance by the hand and drags him away. “Bye, Shiro, it was nice meeting you, see you this weekend!”

Shiro waves after them, trying to process everything that’s happened in the past twenty minutes.

The bake sale is slowly filling up with people, and the few people starting to line up at his table are a good excuse to not talk to Keith, who somehow ended up staying there with him, and figuring out what to say.

They’re sitting next to each other in silence when there’s a quiet moment, no people at their table, and they’re both looking over to where Kiki is trying to bargain to get two cupcakes for the small change she’s holding – knowing her, it’s all the money she and her little friend have put together, and Shiro gave her more than enough to fill her stomach to the brim with cake –, while Xavier stands off to the side, clearly not wanting to take part in the bargaining. In the end, the man sitting behind the table sighs and pushes two cupcakes her way. Shiro chuckles.

“She sure will get her way if she decides on something,” Keith says, smiling.

“Yeah. Gets it from her mom for sure. Sometimes I feel like they’re the same person.”

There’s a short pause before Keith says, “Is she coming tomorrow as well?”

“Kiki? Yeah, she’s with me this weekend. The guys adore her. These weekends are her favorite. She thrives on attention and she sure gets that with everyone fawning over her.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “I meant – I meant your wife.”

Shiro looks over at him, surprised.

“No, she – I mean – we never married. And we split up a long time ago.”

“Oh. I thought – sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright,” Shiro says, smiling reassuringly. “A lot of people assume at first. We have a very civil relationship with each other. We try to make it as easy on Kiki as possible.”

Keith just looks at him for a moment before nodding. “That’s very – mature of you. If it means anything, I think you’re doing well, I mean – she never speaks of you like – I don’t know how to explain, but… you kind of always know when you’re speaking to a kid whose parents are divorced, or – not together. Most of them are very affected by the nature of their parents’ relationship with each other. With Kiki, I don’t see that. She just – it just seems like she loves you both equally, and she looks like she never even had to contemplate choosing between you, or assuming that you don’t like each other anymore, which is – which is good.”

Shiro’s heart gives a little stutter; like it’s been beating away in eco mode for a long while and it’s taken by surprise by the demand for a sudden change of pace. “Thanks. That actually means a lot. I – I appreciate feedback like this. People keep telling me I look like I know what I’m doing, and it’s – the only reason I keep pretending that’s true is because I don’t want to disappoint them. Ninety percent of the time, I have no idea what’s going on.”

The silence is a beat longer than normal, which has Shiro look over to see Keith’s stunned expression turning into a grin and then a small chuckle. “That’s – kind of rough, but the way you say it is just too matter of fact for it not to be a little bit funny. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “But I assure you – you’re doing a very good job. Better than most parents.”

Shiro feels like any more praise will just make the hotness from the tips of his ears spread to his cheeks, and he really doesn’t want that, so he changes the subject. “Thanks. And – you’re doing a great job too. I mean, Kiki talks about you all the time. Doing yoga with them and going out of your way to make their day as interesting and informative as possible, and – and just trying to make most of what you can between the limits of state school, it’s. No one expects that, but you still do it all. It’s – it’s nice to know Kiki is in good hands. And not only that, but to just – to just know there are people like you out there, taking care of future generations.”

He’s too embarrassed to look up until the silence, again, becomes too much. When he does, his stomach does a little jump, because Keith – he’s just looking. At him. With this clear glint in his eyes and his face so open, it’s like – even his freckles look like there’s more of them than before.

“Cheesy.”

They both flinch. Shiro is embarrassed to realize that Lance is halfway through a huge piece of brownie, and he didn’t even notice him coming up to the table. He clears his throat.

“Pay up, Lance. The funds won’t raise themselves.”

 

****

 

* * *

 

On the way home, Kiki asks him why he keeps smiling.

 

* * *

  

They meet at Hunk’s on Sunday. It’s usually a sweatpants-and-comfy-t-shirt affair, since they almost always end up playing some basketball at one time, but an hour before they have to leave, Shiro finds himself standing in front of his wardrobe, hesitating. It’s only natural to want to dress a bit nicer when there are new people joining their group, because it’s different, you kind of feel like you have to be a bit less boring and entertain them more; then, with time, you’ll treat them like the rest of your friends and end up being your usual ratty self around them too after a while. That’s how it works, right? He’s sure the others will put a little more effort into how they dress, too.

He ends up wearing a pair of sweatpants anyway, just nicer than usual, one that he usually only wears at the gym, and a t-shirt that fits just a little more snug but is nothing fancy; he doesn’t want to overdo it.

In the car, he tells Kiki that Keith is going to be there, because he’s a friend of Lance’s, and she gets really excited about that. Asks if Pidge is coming, and when Shiro says yes, she does a little happy dance and says she’s ‘glad that her two favorite adults are going to be there.’ (Pidge has approximately zero affinity to kids and has no idea how to speak to them, but Kiki loves her to bits for some reason anyway.)

Everyone but Keith is there when they arrive.

Lance and Allura must have just gotten there, too, because Allura is introducing herself to Pidge, and Lance is putting the contents of a paper bag on the table, and is that –

“Lance, you know we only have soft drinks when Kiki is here.”

Shiro’s glad Hunk says that so he doesn’t have to, because he already feels like he’s ruining their fun sometimes.

“Yeah, well, you can’t expect me to sit through y’all telling Allura embarrassing stories about me without alcohol. And it’s just beer anyway. Basically a soft drink.”

“I would _never_ –”

“Yes, you would, Hunk. Remember Bianca in twelfth grade? When I introduced her to you guys?”

“Okay, that’s true, but that was like – eight years ago, dude. We’re adults now.”

“Right, well, and Nate not even two years ago? You showed him a picture of me crying, with snot running into my mouth, dude.”

“Ew,” Allura interjects.

“You were, like, seven years old in that picture. I’m gonna go check on the pie.”

Shiro notices he was right, at least in part: Lance’s pants definitely look nicer than the ratty grey sweats he usually wears to their weekend cake affairs, and his t-shirt is nicer, too. Pidge and Hunk don’t seem to have put more effort into their looks (although Hunk’s adorable apron flaunting little cartoon squirrels does make him look stylishly hipster enough that there’s no need for that anyway).

The doorbell rings.

“That must be Mr Kogane!” Kiki exclaims and runs to get the door.

She practically rips the door open, jumping onto Keith. Shiro hurries over and takes the plate of cookies Keith is trying to raise high enough that Kiki won’t knock it out of his hands.

“Kiki, at least let him come in.” He looks over at Keith. “Sorry. Hi.”

Keith smiles; pats Kiki’s head. “It’s okay. Hi.”

Keith is definitely dressed nicer than all of them (except for Allura, who looks as gorgeously stylish as she did on Friday). He’s wearing dark brown chinos and a black half-turtleneck. His glass frames are black today.

They make their way inside. Keith introduces himself to Pidge and Hunk and then they all sit around the table to have some of Hunk’s apple pie. (Kiki, of course, insists on sitting between Pidge and Keith.)

Cake-time is spent with contented humming and praising Hunk’s baking skills; as soon as Kiki shoves the last bite into her mouth, she drags Pidge off to make bracelets with her. (Hunk’s house is full of toys and creative games for Kiki, because he and Lance used to make a competition out of buying presents for her to see who she’ll love most. They both lost.)

Shiro thought it would be at least a bit awkward, having two new people in their little friend group at the same time, partly because Keith is Kiki’s teacher, and partly because – well, because they’re new people. But conversation flows easily; neither Allura nor Keith seem like the shy-at-first types, although there is a slight awkwardness in Keith that Shiro hasn’t seen in him before. He seemed so confident, so in his element at the parent-teacher meet, and when he asked Shiro if he was coming to the bake sale. And on Friday – well, Shiro was too caught up trying not to be awkward himself to notice anything like that.

He still speaks with confidence, with passion, but he keeps putting his hair behind his ears when a strand falls into his face, and he does the gesture even when there’s nothing there, and he often looks at the table instead of in the eyes of whoever he’s talking to.

When Lance teases him about something, there’s also an annoyed scowl on his face and impatience in his voice, and that side is new to Shiro, too; he’s only seen a sliver of it once, when he first met him and interrupted his class.

Shiro thinks that this – being just the tiniest bit awkward, being a little hot-headed – it makes Keith seem more approachable, somehow; like he’s human, like Shiro can think of him as a normal person, can talk to him as a normal person. The fact that he hasn’t before seems a bit silly now, but – it happens, right? When you meet someone who seems so – faultless, almost perfect, and you can’t – you can’t say why. You don’t know. It just happens.

Shiro learns that Keith is twenty-seven (surprising; Shiro didn’t think he looked older than twenty-four), that he taught at another elementary school for four years before moving here (Shiro wants to ask why, but for some reason is not brave enough to), that he’s really passionate about nature and space (Shiro can’t help saying ‘me too,’ because it’s true and he feels like he would love to talk more about that, but not here and now – but then he quickly tunes back into the conversation because he doesn’t want to think about the answer to the question bouncing around in his brain asking ‘so where and when then’), and decided to be a teacher because he thinks he could have had a better childhood if the system had provided him with at least one adult he could have looked up to and learned good patterns from (Shiro wants to ask what that means so, so badly, but he doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for the situation).

After everyone is done interviewing Keith, they start asking Allura questions. She talks about having moved to the US from England twelve years ago, after she finished school there. Which means –

“Wait,” Shiro interrupts. “What – what school did you finish twelve years ago? How old are you?”

“Thirty,” Allura says.

“What?!” Shiro gasps. The others snicker.

Lance kisses Allura’s forehead. “I love it when people are clearly shocked by that.”

“Good genes,” Allura laughs.

“And clean eating helps, too,” Keith adds.

Lance groans. “Don’t you two start with that again. I already hear you both talk enough about the wonders of veganism separately, no teaming up allowed.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Well, you brag about your skincare routine for like, three hours every day, Lance.”

Lance opens his mouth to answer when they’re interrupted by Kiki. She goes around the table and hands everyone a little bracelet; they’re made of thick thread, plaited together into a simple band. They’re all different colors; Shiro’s is black.

“I made one for everyone,” Kiki says. She sounds almost shy; not something Shiro sees often, and it makes him smile.

“Aw, thank you, that’s so sweet,” Allura says and puts hers on immediately.

“Kiki, how’d you know blue was my favorite color?!” Lance exclaims theatrically.

Kiki climbs onto Shiro’s lap and shrugs. “I didn’t.”

Shiro looks over at Keith. He’s already put his on and is looking at it fondly.

“Thank you, Kiki,” he says, and he glances over at them both.

Shiro has to look away.

 

* * *

 

They end up having to switch from ordering from their usual pizza place to one that also delivers vegan pizza. Shiro doesn’t mind; he’s not picky, and as long as he gets his usual pepperoni topping with extra sauce, he’s fine. Lance complains a bit because he’s Lance, but stops when he actually bites into his first slice.

“Okay, we’re definitely ordering from this place from now on. I thought Momo’s was the best pizza in town, but man – this is on a whole other level. I didn’t even know crust could be this good. I feel like I’m on a cobble-stoned terrace of a small restaurant in Venice that only serves pizza and nothing else. That extra four dollars was definitely worth it.”

They all hum in agreement.

“Do you usually do it like this? I mean, having cake first and then dinner?” Keith asks, and Shiro notices that the question is definitely directed at him.

“Yeah,” he nods. “The cake is supposed to be the star of the afternoon. It’s tradition by now, pretty much. And Kiki always passes out around nine, and she’d much rather miss out on actual food than cake.”

“I bet,” Keith chuckles.

That’s when Lance comes back to the living room, carrying a twelve-pack of beer. Hunk and Allura glare at him.

“What? Kiki’s asleep!” Lance protests.

Everyone turns to look at Shiro. He shrugs. “I suppose,” he says.

“Yay!” Lance goes around and hands everyone a beer. “Drinking and bonding go hand in hand, guys. You made the right choice.”

They end up playing Broforce, the only video game they play these days, because they realized early on that they were all way too competitive for games where they have to play against each other (with the exception of Shiro, who doesn’t mind Broforce, because other co-op games are way too realistically violent for his liking).

They take turns playing in groups of three, and after thinking about it a little, Shiro can’t find a reason not to have a beer while Allura, Lance and Hunk are playing; Kiki is asleep, and they can always call a taxi and come back for the car tomorrow.

One beer turns into three, somehow, and Shiro is the most ridiculously lightweight person ever for his build. Alcohol has a strange effect on him; it doesn’t make him more social, but more observant; he notices details about people he never has before, and he feels more sentimental about those details than he probably would if he were sober: like there are gently hidden parts of a person that they themselves might not even know about; subtle patterns of behaviour, grimaces, reactions, words, sounds, the way they keep putting their hair behind their ear, eyes on the ground when they’re flustered, biting their lip, deep in thought –

A controller is thrust into his hands. Their team is up.

Keith hasn’t played before, but he’s surprisingly good at it after a few minutes of testing which button does what, and even more surprisingly into it. Shiro sneaks peeks at him when he dies in the game and is waiting for someone to rescue him: he has a deeply focused look on his face, eyebrows drawn together and lips slightly pursed, and he’s a full-body player, too, leaning ahead in concentration, often tilting his hands along with the controller.

He’s so different from the professional, serious-looking image he has as a teacher; Shiro wonders if the fact that he let loose a little bit, that he has abandoned his reserved front has something to do with the beer he’s had. Shiro never would have thought he had a side like this, a side that groans in frustration at a video game, shouts words of encouragement and advice excitedly to the other players, wrinkles his freckled nose when he loses.

And Shiro is fascinated by it.

(Because he’s a bit tipsy. The most miniscule things fascinate him when he’s a bit tipsy. Nothing special about this one.)

They win the mission. Keith turns to him and gives him the biggest smile Shiro’s ever seen on him; excited and joyful and a bit alcohol-dopey.

(Nothing special about this one at all.)

 

* * *

 

A few days after the cake afternoon, Lance shows up to their usual basketball affair with Keith. Shiro is picking up the ball from the other side of the court where it rolled off when he sees them approaching, and he ignores the pleasantly surprised swoop in his stomach. Keith is walking a few steps behind Lance, looking a bit shy, and when they get closer and Shiro gets a better look at him, he notices that he’s – he’s not wearing jeans or shirts or oxfords; he’s wearing loose, grey basketball shorts, a black sleeveless hoodie and black sneakers. His hair is up in a high bun, and he’s not wearing his glasses.

The tug in Shiro’s belly is low and intense, and he can’t, he can’t face forming words that make sense of that feeling, so he tears his eyes away and jogs back to the others with the ball.

Takes deep, slow breaths in the thirty seconds it takes for Lance and Keith to go around the side of the fence.

“I brought along a nerd. Allura made me. Sorry about that,” Lance says as they’re approaching.

Keith scowls at him. “You begged me to come for thirty minutes –”

“Anyway, let’s play. My muscles are screaming for some exercise after sitting down all day.”

Shiro comes to the conclusion that he was stupid. He doesn’t even know how he could have assumed that the way a person is at work is how they always are; he himself isn’t, after all. So it shouldn’t be surprising that Keith is super passionate about playing basketball, too. Shouldn’t be surprising that he’s also very skilled at it, not afraid to make bold moves, getting as close to his opponents as possible to get a chance to take the ball. What’s surprising is how totally, completely Shiro sucks at playing even remotely as well as he usually does today. What’s surprising is how little it takes for him to get distracted by small details of Keith: like his slim but defined calves left bare in his shorts, his toned arms, his back as the muscles tense in it, how fucking blue and clear his eyes are without his glasses, his panting breath as he tries to take the ball off Shiro, and as he runs off with it –

“Shiro, what the fuck?” Pidge is looking at him, a mixture of annoyance and confusion on her face.

And fuck if Shiro knows. He hasn’t had anything to drink; he has no reason to be distracted. At all. (At least nothing he wants to even so much as acknowledge.)

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Shiro, Pidge and Hunk are playing Broforce on Shiro’s couch when Pidge smirks, glancing over at Shiro. “So, you’re a PTA dad now, huh?”

Shiro groans. “Why is everyone so hung up on that?”

Pidge shrugs. “Well, it’s all suburban wine – no, fucking _rosé_ moms and snobby dads, isn’t it? Not really your scene.”

“I don’t know. It seemed like the right thing to do, I mean, Rachel would totally be a PTA mom if she lived closer. I’m doing it for her, kind of.”

Pidge stares at him for an unnervingly long time.

“ _Kind of,_ ” she mutters. “Dude. You’re doing that little pout and looking shiftily to the side thing that you always do when you’re not telling the truth, did you know that?”

“Pidge, no, why would I – I’m not looking to the side _shiftily_ , I’m looking to the side because you’re a five-feet compact machine of – of _interrogation_ , and you’re making me nervous.”

Hunk sits up on the sofa so fast he nearly falls off it.

“The fucking – it’s Keith, oh my God, that’s why, with the baking, you were so – and on Sunday! And, and yesterday, at basketball! Jesus, how did I miss that? Man, do you have the hots for Kiki’s teacher?”

Shiro gapes.

“What? No, are you – of course not. Are we... are we seriously talking about this? Me having a crush on Kiki’s teacher? No. Just no. Listen – stop snickering. It’s just that I was very pleasantly surprised at his teaching techniques, it’s not something you usually see in a state school.”

Pidge snorts. “That sounds like something Rachel would say.”

Shiro ignores her. “Anyway, he’s a really good teacher. Yes, the PTA is most likely made up of snobs, but his devotion to kids kind of made me realize that I want to be more involved in Kiki’s life.”

Both Pidge and Hunk make a drawn out ‘aww’ sound at that.

Shiro is relieved enough to make an attempt at changing the subject.

“Anyway, can we keep playing? I’ve had to save you both at least three times since this discussion started, and we’ve been stuck doing this mission for like, twenty minutes.”

“Right,” Pidge snorts, and turns back to the TV.

 

* * *

  

Keith becomes somewhat of a constant presence in their lives over the next month, along with Allura. Shiro will sometimes get out of the car to talk to them when he drops Kiki off or picks her up; they come over on weekends to eat cake and play basketball and video games; they go out for drinks when Kiki is with her mom (and each time, Shiro makes sure not to have more than one).

It’s nice. It doesn’t feel like they only just joined their little friend group; it feels like they have settled into the slot that has always been kept up for them without any of them knowing it was there before.

They’re both wonderful additions to their lives, good people, good friends. Everything else that sometimes seeps as a cloudy haze into Shiro’s head gets shone through with fog lights before it can cause any real damage.

 

* * *

 

Keith tells him he’s organizing a field trip for the kids to a farm sanctuary before he sends out the email to the PTA parents.

“Is this part of your vegan propaganda?” Shiro laughs as they stand in front of the school, Keith dividing his attention between drop-off duty and talking.

“They’re city kids,” Keith shrugs. “It’s good for them to meet animals other than overfed squirrels and mutated pigeons. I don’t think any of them have seen a pig or a chicken up close.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Shiro nods.

He doesn’t even have to say he’s coming along as a chaperone; at this point, it’s a given.

 

* * *

 

The farm sanctuary looks a lot like what Shiro imagines a real farm to look like. There’s a huge, grassy field, separated from the forest behind it by a wooden fence. There are stacks of hay on the side, right next to a rectangle-shaped barn. There are some pigs on the other end, some laying on a thin layer of hay, some in shallow mud. There are chickens and sheep spread out all over the field, most of the sheep laying down, and some of the chicken gathered around what Shiro assumes is a feeder.

The kids are fascinated by it all. The owner of the sanctuary, Miss Bernardez, takes them over to the pigs, telling the kids to go ahead and pet them. Naturally, it’s Kiki who takes the first step towards one of the pigs laying on a hay pile.

“Go on,” Miss Bernardez encourages her, “they are very friendly and they love being pet.”

Shiro can see that Kiki is nervous, but her determination and strong character always win over her fears. And true to that, she’s stepping closer, until she’s actually crouching next to the pig, reaching a hand out and tentatively rubbing its belly. The pig turns its head slightly and gives a satisfied snort. The kids giggle.

Now that the tension is broken and everyone more or less trusts that the pigs are not going to eat them, more of them go up to some and pet them.

“Why is this one black and white instead of pink? And why is it so fluffy?” Kiki asks, looking up at Miss Bernardez.

“She’s a kunekune,” she replies. “They’re from New Zealand. The smallest pigs in the world.”

Kiki smiles. “She’s cute.”

Shiro is having one of those moments where he’s overwhelmed by how amazing his kid is. Always brave, always curious; constantly making decisions in situations where she can’t know the exact outcome, simply because she hasn’t yet experienced enough of the world to know what to expect.

“She’s amazing,” Keith says from next to him.

Shiro glances over at him. Smiles. “I was just thinking that. _An amazing little human._ I’m just realizing what you really meant by that.”

“Yeah? And what is that?” Keith prompts.

“Like... they’re full of this hope that we aren’t. Because most things – most situations – are not new to us anymore. We’re kind of just going into it, thinking, oh, I’ve been here before.” Shiro pauses, thinking about where he’s going with this. He really doesn’t know. “But we haven’t, you know? We haven’t been there, and we’re already expecting it to be something. They don’t know what to expect, and they just... go into it anyway. Not thinking about the past or making assumptions about the future.”

Keith looks over at him, something searching in his look that makes Shiro look away.

“And would you change that if you could? About yourself?”

Shiro huffs out a nervous chuckle. “I wasn’t talking... I meant in general, I –” He takes a deep breath; blows it out. “I don’t know if I can.”

He can still feel Keith looking at him, scrutinizing; and he still can’t bring himself to look his way, looking at the kids playing with the pigs instead.

“But I think you do,” Keith says eventually. “You do know. Look at Kiki; she’s so brave. And the rest of the kids. They’re acting on the hope they have in them. Everyone has that somewhere. You just have to trust it. Trust the hope you have for the future and – act on it.”

Shiro closes his eyes. One, two, three, and –

He looks over at Keith; standing there, leaning on the fence, looking at him, just looking –

Shiro’s eyes wander over to his hands, and he sees it: the bracelet, the red plaited bracelet Kiki gave to him over a month ago, and he’s still wearing it, it’s still there.

And he does. He does know.

 

* * *

 

They decide to play _Connect_ on a rainy Sunday after they get bored of playing video games and basketball is out of the question. Keith and Allura haven’t played before, and Kiki insists on explaining the rules herself.

“One person has to think of a word, but doesn’t say it. You keep it a secret. You only say the first letter, and then someone else thinks of a word with that letter. Anyone who wants to. They keep it a secret too. But then that person thinks of _another_ word that reminds them of the word they thought of, and they say that word out loud. Then someone can say _connect_ if they get it. And then the main person, the person who thought of the first word, has ten seconds to guess the word, and if they do, nothing happens. If they don’t, the two other people say the word at the same time and if they thought of the same word, the main person has to tell the second letter of the word. And it goes on until we guess the word. Get it?”

Allura and Keith stare.

“Kind of?” Allura ends up saying, hesitant.

“Yeah, kind of,” Keith says.

“Let’s show them, Kiki, okay? It’s easier to understand that way,” Shiro says. “Lance, think of a word.”

“Uuuuh, alright, let’s have...okay, I got one. First letter is a.”

“Kiki?” Shiro prompts.

“Ummmm – fruit.”

Shiro thinks for a second. “Connect.”

“Ten…nine…” Pidge counts.

“Um, uh – apple? Apricot?” Lance asks.

“No,” Kiki says.

“Eight...seven...six...five...four…”

“Uhh – fudge, I can’t think of anything fruit-related that starts with an a...”

“Two...one. Alright, on the count of three, then. Three, two, one...”

“Ananas!” Shiro and Kiki shout at the same time.

“Hey, that’s – that’s not even an English word!” Lance protests.

“Yeah, but Kiki read the language labels on the pineapple can the other day and asked me why it said ‘ananas’ in every language but not English, so I knew what she was thinking of. Also, this round was just to show Keith how the game works, Lance.”

Kiki nods. “Yeah, so now Lance would have to tell us the second letter. If he guessed right or dad guessed wrong, he wouldn’t have to do anything. Get it now?”

“I think so,” Allura says, and Keith nods along.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Pidge says. “First letter is c.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, then Hunk says, “lemon punch.”

Everyone thinks in silence for a minute, then Lance laughs. “Connect.”

Shiro starts the countdown.

“Umm... citrusy?” Pidge guesses.

“No.”

“I can’t think of anything else… clubbing? Club?”

“No.”

“Time’s up,” Shiro say and counts back from three to one.

“Catherine!” Hunk and Lance say in unison, and then burst out laughing.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Is this another high school memory that no one other than you two could have known about?”

“Yeah,” Lance laughs. “Man, that was an embarrassing night.”

“Erm… is the point of this game to say stuff that no one else in the group could know of or…?”

Shiro grins. “No, that’s actually against the rules, but they do it all the time.”

“We did it with ananas,” Kiki says.

“I noticed,” Keith laughs.

“Alright, nerds. Next letter is h.”

“Cute,” Kiki says almost immediately.

Shiro feels like this one’s for him, and he racks his brain for what Kiki might think of as cute that starts with a h.

“Alright, connect,” he says after a while.

The countdown goes down and Pidge doesn’t guess it.

When Hunk counts back from three, Shiro says “hedgehogs” and Kiki says “Harry.”

Shiro furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

Kiki rolls her eyes. “Harry Styles, dad. His poster is on my wall? He’s in One Direction?”

“Oh,” Shiro says, and sighs. He really didn’t think this would come so soon. He hears a little snort from next to him, and it’s Keith, seemingly trying to hide his mouth behind his hand. Shiro thinks he hears him mumble _hedgehogs_ , but he isn’t sure.

(What he’s sure of is that he has a hard time holding smiles back these days that appear for no reason at all.)

“Alright, new word for h then.”

Everyone thinks in silence for a minute, trying to come up with something.

Then Keith says, “Future.”

He looks right at Shiro when he says it, and Shiro’s chest squeezes. He looks back at Keith for a beat, then two, then three, and says, without looking away, “Connect.”

He tunes out Pidge trying to guess the word, tunes out the countdown until it’s their turn to say what they were thinking of.

They’re looking at each other when they open their mouths to say their word at the same time.

“Hope.”

Keith’s voice aligning with his resounds in Shiro’s head like an echo.

There’s a beat of silence when nobody says anything; a beat of silence that sounds deafening to Shiro, his head clouded with loud white noise, his heart lurching so achingly that he knows he can’t keep this up; can’t keep the pretense of not wanting when he wants so, _so_ much.

He flinches back into reality when Pidge clears her throat.

“The next letter is e.”

She looks a little uncomfortable; like she knows, or at least feels that she just witnessed something delicately intimate.

Nobody says anything for a while. Then Lance gets a wicked grin on his face and says “Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Pidge says. “Could you have been any more vague than that?”

“It’s a valid and associable word, Pidge,” Lance grins.

“Um... connect?” Allura says.

Pidge scowls. “Uh... no, nothing. I don’t have anything.”

The ten seconds are up and Pidge doesn’t guess it. Shiro counts to one and Lance and Allura both shout “Engagement party!” at the same time.

Hunk scowls. “Engagement party? What does that have to do with Saturday?”

Lance and Allura just grin.

“Oh, my God!” Kiki shrieks. “Are you getting married?”

Everyone gasps. Lance and Allura laugh.  “Yeah.”

“Oh, wow!” Shiro says. “Congrats, guys!”

They all stand up and hug them, saying their congratulations.

“Wait, was this planned? Cause I have to say, that was like, the most awesome way of announcing that,” Pidge says, grinning.

“Nope,” Lance laughs. “I just really hoped she’d roll with it. And she did.” He kisses Allura’s forehead with a huge, proud _smack_. “Engagement party is next Saturday, by the way, so clear your schedules. It’s gonna be _huge_.”

The game halts for a while while they tell the proposal story, interrupting and correcting each other the whole time.

(Pidge’s word was _chesthair_ , which Kiki giggles at for a solid minute. Shiro is starting to understand why she’s her favorite.)

 

* * *

 

Lance wasn’t kidding; the engagement party _is_ huge.

Shiro is swamped with work that he has to catch up with over the weekend, so he politely excuses himself from the morning and afternoon preparations, and by the time he gets there, there are at least forty people mingling in the living room and the garden.

He hasn’t met the others yet, avoiding them deliberately because he’s really tempted to call the babysitter and ask if everything is okay, even though he knows it’s stupid. Rachel isn’t even here yet, having left the house less than an hour ago.

The house is beautiful: minimal in style but with a few touches here and there that make it homey and warm. The spaces are big and open, no unnecessary doors; the windows are huge and open to a backyard with a big wood floor terrace and a little Japanese garden with a lake behind it on one side and a bigger area covered in trees on the other. Shiro has no idea how Allura can allow such a nice house on a state salary, but he’s impressed.

He finally decides to leave the babysitter alone and goes to look for the others. He finds them all in the kitchen, doing... doing shots?

“Are you guys doing shots?”

They all turn to him, apparently so engrossed in downing their shot that they haven’t seen him come in.

Lance looks a bit guilty. “Sorry we didn’t wait for you. It’s our first one, so you haven’t missed anything.”

Shiro laughs. “No, no, no, you’re right, I haven’t missed anything. I don’t drink spirits, you know that. It’s eight o’clock, by the way.” He grins. “You will all be shitfaced by nine.”

Without saying anything, Lance pours another shot and attempts to hand it to Shiro.

“Nuh-uh. No way. I don’t do that.”

“Dude, come on,” Lance pouts. “It’s our engagement party.”

“Yeah, Shiro, I want to see you shitfaced,” Allura pipes up, grinning.

“You absolutely can’t make me drink hard liquor. It’s just not something I’ve done since college and I don’t plan to, ever again.”

Keith, who’s been watching the exchange silently, takes the shot glass out of Lance’s hand and steps close to Shiro, holding it out for him.

“Just this one?”

He’s standing so close that he has to look up at Shiro, and he’s not wearing his glasses again, and fucking hell, is he – he is. He’s wearing eyeliner: a thin line right over his top eyelashes, getting a bit thicker towards the outer edges, curling into little wings at the ends, and Shiro has no air to breathe in. It’s – gone. Disappeared.

Keith shakes his head, closes his eyes for a second. “You don’t have to,” and as he’s about to turn away, Shiro grabs his wrist and takes the shot glass out of his hand, downing it in one go.

It tastes vile, but he keeps it down.

Somebody whispers “What the fuck,” and Shiro – has to get some water. Yeah.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the others leave the kitchen, he downs another shot by himself.

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting around a table outside not long after that, drinking beer, when Rachel arrives. She introduces herself to Allura, hugs both her and Lance, says her congratulations. When she turns to look at the group, her eyes catch on Keith, eyebrows rising.

“You’re Kiki’s teacher, right? Nice to see you here.” It’s quite obvious that she doesn’t want to be rude and outright ask why he’s here, and the whole situation makes Shiro feel a little uncomfortable for some reason.

“Yeah,” Keith says, nodding. “Nice to see you, Miss Davis.”

“Keith’s my best friend,” Allura pipes up. “We all teach at Kiki’s school.”

Rachel nods in understanding. “I see. In any case, please, call me Rachel.”

Somehow, Shiro feels a wave of relief wash over him when she smiles at Keith.

 

* * *

 

In under an hour, the house gets filled with people. Most of them Shiro has never seen, some of them he recognizes from the school. He noticed that even though some of them try to engage Keith in conversation, make him come over to their table, he sticks with him, Rachel, Hunk and Pidge.

And Shiro keeps drinking, because he doesn’t know how to handle the growing urge to do something stupid, like blurt out how fucking good that eyeliner looks on him or grab his wrist and ask why he’s still wearing that stupid bracelet Kiki made him.

Around nine, Allura and Lance usher everyone into the living room. Lance stands up on a table and clears his throat.

“Good evening, everyone,” he shouts, and the crowd quiets down. “First of all, thanks for coming to our engagement party. I know you’re all here for the free booze and food, but still.” He smiles when some people laugh. “I had three shots and a beer because otherwise I’d be way too nervous to speak in front of all of you, so here’s to that,” he raises his beer bottle and takes a swig. Those holding drinks do the same.

“I’m not going to talk long, I’ll let you get back to drinking, don’t worry. Allura – I just wanted to say to you that if I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d have a galaxy in my head.” Some people _aww_ , some groan and laugh.

“It wouldn’t be Lance if he didn’t say at least one cheesy pickup line,” Hunk shakes his head, expression fond.

“And to you all,” Lance continues, “I’m glad we’re all here for this.” He grins. “And by that, I mean we’re all here to witness the undeniable proof that I am indeed marrying the funniest, most beautiful woman in the world.” He reaches down and pulls Allura up on the table next to him, raising her hand high so that everyone can see the engagement ring on her finger. People start cheering and whistling; Shiro and the others the loudest. Shiro glances to the side where Keith is standing right next to him, laughing and cheering, as relaxed and loud as he’s ever seen him. He has a hard time looking away. “Okay, okay, yes, thank you,” Lance laughs, “Let my fiancée speak now. Anything you want to say, love?”

Allura just looks back at Lance for a moment, then smirks. “Well – all I want to say to you, Lance, is that even if there was no gravity on Earth, I’d still fall for you.” There’s a beat of silence, then everyone goes crazy, laughing and cheering and whistling. “And that,” Allura shouts over the noise, “is the real proof that I’m marrying this idiot.”

Shiro laughs, and he can’t help glancing to his side again, expecting Keith to be looking at them, too, and startles when he finds him looking straight at him, expression serene but holding something disturbingly knowing at the same time.

Shiro tries to suppress a shiver as he looks away.

 

* * *

 

The living room pretty much gets converted into a dance floor after that, and Shiro is drunk enough that his body forgets about the no dancing rule. And it apparently also forgets about the no excessive staring rule, too because he just can’t stop looking.

He can’t stop looking at Keith laughing, doing silly 80s dance moves with everyone else, and he especially can’t stop looking after they all have another two rounds of shots and the music changes to something heavier, and Keith – Keith moves to it so fluidly, so enticingly that it’s impossible not to get lost in the sight of him. He looks so beautiful and confident that Shiro knows, in an instant, that Keith knows. He knows he looks good, that he’s attracting stares, and he likes it.

Shiro’s drunk mind runs with that piece of information, shredding it to bits, wanting to know every aspect to it; and when Keith glances at him out of the corner of his eye, smile shrewd and knowing, Shiro’s heart stutters with the realization that he probably knows that, too.

 

* * *

 

There comes a point when a lot of people get to the emotional drunk stage where they try to stand up on chairs to say something nice or nostalgic or funny about Allura and Lance. Sometimes it’s cringey, sometimes it’s incomprehensible, and sometimes it’s hilarious. At one point, Hunk decides to follow suit, standing up on a chair and clanking a spoon against his beer bottle.

Shiro is sitting with Rachel and Pidge, watching him. Keith disappeared about twenty minutes ago, saying he needed to go to the bathroom.

(Shiro checked five minutes ago, because he got worried, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t look too drunk, though, so Shiro guesses he’s fine; although he thinks he’ll start looking if he doesn’t turn up soon.)

“I just want to say,” Hunk starts, “that Lance has been my best friend since... my whole life. And I’m – I’m so happy to see him happy. He’s one of the best people I know, and if someone deserves it, it’s him.”

“Awwww, Hunk!” Lance clutches at his heart theatrically, laughing.

“And also, as his best friend, it’s my duty to at one point embarrass him in front of his new wife-to-be, so –”

Lance’s face changes to horrified in an instant. “Hunk, no –”

“So, yes, Allura, when we were little, Lance used to eat dirt and watermelon seeds because he thought watermelons would grow out of his mouth. He would try to make us all do it, too.”

“Aww, that’s more cute than embarrassing, honestly,” Allura says.

Hunk smiles. “I know. I was going to say something else but I didn’t have the heart to really embarrass him.”

“Aw, Hunk!” Lance says. “I love Allura, but I’m always going to be a little married to you.”

Allura laughs, dropping a quick kiss on Lance’s cheek. “I’d never get in the way of that.”

Everyone is watching the exchange with fond expressions, and Shiro is happy for them, too, he’s always happy when he sees people in love, but he’s even happier when it’s people he cares about. But at the same time, that now familiar pang of longing blooms in his chest again; only a lot more specific, now, and he knows, he’s known for months, but now it feels like he has no control over it. And it stirs something frightening in him, the way that makes him feel, the way the alcohol clouds his thoughts and takes over them without his permission. He needs to sober up. Coffee. He needs coffee.

When everyone gets back to dancing, Shiro decides it’s safe to slip off to the kitchen without being noticed. But when he enters, he quickly realizes he’s not alone, heart rate picking up when he sees the person sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Hi,” Keith says quietly, leaning back on his hands. The only source of light in the kitchen is the under-cabinet lighting behind him.

“Hi.” Shiro clears his throat, going straight for the espresso machine next to Keith. He can see out of the corner of his eye that Keith’s head is turned towards him, but he keeps his focus on making coffee. He’s just not ready to look at him so close, he’s too drunk, and Keith is sitting next to him with his goddamn blue eyes and his goddamn winged eyeliner and his goddamn beautiful face illuminated by the dim lighting –

“Why are you drinking coffee?”

Shiro startles. It’s okay. It’s okay. He can act normal. He can. He clears his throat again.

“Too much to drink,” he says as casually as possible.

“And coffee is going to help that how?” Shiro glances up. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Because Keith has this fucking challenging smile on his face, eyebrows slightly raised, head tilted to the side against the cupboard door.

Shiro shrugs. Casual. “It usually sobers me up a bit.”

“Mm-hmm,” is all Keith says in return, and when Shiro glances up again, he sees that Keith is still looking at him, eyes half-lidded.

Coffee. His coffee is ready. Spoon. He needs a spoon. Which is – in the drawer behind Keith’s legs.

“Um, can I... can I get a spoon from there?” Shiro asks, not moving.

Keith stares at him for much longer than what Shiro is comfortable with, head still resting against the cupboard door; then slowly spreads his legs open so that they’re on either side of the drawer. There’s an instant fire starting to roil in Shiro’s stomach. Did... did Keith just –

Shiro swallows. It’s nothing. He... he’ll just have to take two steps closer, take the spoon…

So he does. He takes two steps, reacher for the drawer between Keith’s legs, and takes out a little spoon. He won’t look up, he won’t, he won’t –

“Sugar’s over here.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck –

Keith’s voice is so, so... Shiro can’t find the words. Doesn’t want to say _suggestive_ because that would mean...

No, no, it’s nothing, it’s fine. He has to look up. So he takes a deep breath, and –

And Keith’s head is tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded, and he’s nodding up and towards the small shelf next to his head, because.... because the sugar is there. Shiro has to step closer, because he can’t reach it from here, and Keith is not moving. It’s all good, though. He closes the drawer and takes a step forward – and he’s standing right between Keith’s open legs, fuck, his head is hazy, spinning –, leans forward to take the sugar, reaches up –

And see, this is the thing. This is the reason he doesn’t like to drink. He just gets so light-headed and aware and honest and stupidly impulsive from alcohol; like, he would be able to control this situation so well if he hadn’t been drinking.

He would act like it was all fine, instead of being aware of every movement of Keith’s, hypersensitive to the mere presence of him.

He would be able to squash it down and pretend the feeling is not there, instead of continuously thinking about reaching out and touching him, just to see what it’s like, and being honest for the first time in a long time about what he wants.

He could just reach up, take the sugar, stir it into his coffee and leave the kitchen, instead of pausing and turning his head slightly, looking at Keith, face so fucking close, eyes looking back at him so intensely that Shiro’s stomach does a somersault at the sight.

Even if he had sneaked a peek, he would look away after a second, embarrassed, instead of keeping his eyes on Keith, just looking, looking, _looking_ , his heart beating faster and louder with every breath taken.

He would be able to keep his eyes from flicking down if he saw Keith’s tongue darting out and licking his bottom lip, instead of following the movement, mesmerized, breath hitching.

And if Keith leaned forward a little bit, tipping his face forward slightly, hands still resting in his own lap, and so, so openly and unabashedly staring at Shiro’s lips through half-lidded eyes that Shiro’s stomach fucking _aches_ with the hot fire burning low in it, he would straight up hightail it the fuck out of here, instead of –

Instead of –

of –

Shiro hasn’t got the slightest clue where he was going with this, or how he got here, in the slot between Keith’s thighs, inches from his expectant face, shaking, head spinning, revolving around _Keith, Keith, Keith_ only; but he knows where he has to go with it, doesn’t see how doing anything else wouldn’t be utterly foolish.

(He was going to go for it head-on, no holding back; but in reality, his sensible self is still in there somewhere, putting a leash on his impetuousness, telling him: be gentle, slow, careful.)

And so Shiro leans forward ever so slightly, tips his face up, and brushes his lower lip against Keith’s, feather-light, just for a second. He leans back just enough to see Keith’s reaction, and his heart skips, because Keith’s mouth is falling open, his breath hitching on an inhale; his expression, and the way he’s still clutching his hands in his lap like he’s trying to hold back translates to such unadulterated longing, and fuck, that’s definitely... an encouraging sign.

If that wasn’t enough, Keith opens his legs even wider, inviting, and that’s all Shiro needs to press even closer, place a hand on Keith’s jaw and close what little gap is left between them. He kisses him once, a slow, careful peck; then another, and another, and another, all just as sweet and gentle, and Shiro shakes with it, months of longing and want and the reality of Keith kissing him back so softly all melted together and poured into this moment.

And then Keith finally untwists his hands, placing one on Shiro’s back and the other on the back of his neck, and Shiro takes that as permission to cradle Keith’s face in both hands and kiss him in earnest, long and full. Keith’s reaction is instant: he opens his mouth on a gasp, tightening his hold on Shiro, nails scratching lightly on his back and neck.

(Shiro’s sensible self is gone. Disappeared, gave up the fight he was bound to lose from the beginning.)

The final straw, though, is when Keith’s teeth graze over his bottom lip, because there’s just nothing else from then on: just the soft, wet heat of Keith’s mouth as Shiro licks into it, the firm flesh of his thighs as Shiro slides down his hands and grasps them on either side, and the soft moans that fall past his lips that make Shiro’s blood pump so fast he’s dizzy with it.

He can feel Keith’s thighs shaking slightly, and the hand he has on Shiro’s neck, can feel the shuddery breaths he’s taking in between increasingly more sloppy and desperate and hazy kisses, and strangely, that makes him more serene, settles something in him; like a calming feeling that he doesn’t have the mind to put into words right now, but if he did, it would probably sound like, _you’re not the only one who wanted this so much, not the only one who’s nervous about it all_.

And this might be the alcohol making him read into things too much, it wouldn’t be the first time, but maybe a similar thought forms in Keith’s mind at the same time, because he suddenly tightens his hold on Shiro’s neck, slides slightly forward on the counter and locks his legs around Shiro’s waist, drawing him in even closer. Shiro moans into the kiss appreciatively; it’s like they’re feeding off of each other’s increasing bravery, because in the next moment, without really thinking about what he’s doing, he’s lifting Keith’s legs slightly and sliding his hands under his thighs, pulling him as close as physically possible, to the point where they are flush against each other, Keith now half-sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, and the way he says his name, barely above a whisper, is bordering on desperate; something Shiro couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. He tilts his head to the side, and Shiro takes that as an invitation to explore the pulse he can almost see fluttering under Keith’s skin, mouthing at the spot under his jawline, kissing his way down his pale neck, revelling in the soft gasps and moans Keith makes in return.

“The – the fucking bracelet,” he gasps into Keith’s neck, “it’s been... and you’re still, you’re still wearing it, you’ve... do you know how much I’ve thought about it, if I was reading too... too much into it, do you even know how crazy you’ve been driving me –” He’s babbling, he knows it, but _fuck_ , he’s kissing Keith, and they’re pressed so close, and Keith is digging the back of his legs into his ass, pushing them impossibly close, and he’s definitely hard, Shiro can feel it pressing against him, and he’s definitely grinding his hips into Shiro’s, and it’s _doing_ things to him.

“I, ah, wasn’t... wasn’t sure,” Keith gasps out, following up with a choked off laugh, “I just... just didn’t know if you’ve really been checking me out, or, or it was just wistful thinking, but I – I wanted to know so fucking badly, I – I spent half an hour on making these fucking wings look perfect, and – fuck – you were looking, but I still wasn’t sure, but, ah, we’re here, so –” He breaks off with a low moan when Shiro promptly grabs his ass and lifts him up.  “Fuck–”

“Yeah,” Shiro doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, but he knows they need to take this somewhere more private. Keith’s legs stay wrapped around him, his arms coming up to lock around Shiro’s neck, and Shiro holds him firmly, kissing him as they’re slowly making their way to – fuck, Shiro has no idea about the layout of the house, but he hasn’t seen a private area downstairs, and to go up, they have to go through the hall, shit, shit –

“There’s a guest room through there,” Keith murmurs against his lips, nodding towards the side door of the kitchen, which Shiro hadn’t noticed before, even though it’s open. Shiro walks them over to the doorway, which leads to a narrow corridor, and there seems to be no people hanging around here, thank _fuck_. There’s a room at the end of the corridor, and Shiro prays to every divine entity he can think of to find it empty of drunken couples. He holds Keith up with one hand while he opens the door, finding the room blissfully vacant. As soon as the door closes behind them, Shiro walks them over to the large bed in the middle of the room, and kneels down on it before gently lowering Keith down onto it. Or trying to, because Keith has something different in mind, not letting go, pulling him along as he goes to lie back.

And outside of the limitations of the kitchen counter and the dim cabinet lighting, Shiro can really see Keith, really feel him: his face flushed, his expression so inviting, and he’s so warm, Shiro’s weight pinning him to the bed so _good_ , it’s – fuck, Shiro wants to touch him, needs to –

“May I?” He asks, holding himself up with one hand, the other hovering over Keith’s shirt.

Keith huffs out a laugh. “Do you even need to ask?”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods, serious.

Keith smiles. “Yes, you may.”

Shiro’s hands slip under Keith’s shirt immediately, kissing him slowly before he slips lower on the bed, mouthing at Keith’s stomach where it’s exposed.

Keith moans. “Fuck, Shiro –”

It’s incredible, really, how it all goes to Shiro’s head, filling it with nothing but that sound, and the way Keith says his name, shaky and wrecked. His nerves are long gone; now he just wants, so much, like he hasn’t in a very long time. He kisses his way up Keith’s trembling stomach to his chest, nipping and sucking lightly, careful not to leave any marks; Keith is writhing under him, thrusting his hips upwards into Shiro’s, and _fuck_ , the friction is so good, and it’s _Keith_ , and Shiro hasn’t been a teenager for almost a decade, but if this goes on, he’s going to feel like one embarrassingly soon.

He kisses his way up to Keith’s lips, then, shaky, sloppier than he’d care to admit, and goes to unbuckle Keith’s belt with trembling fingers. Keith gasps into his mouth, letting go of him and reaching down between them to unbutton Shiro’s pants. It’s messy, probably a bit awkward as their hands keep knocking into each other, but that’s the last thing on Shiro’s mind now. What’s on his mind is the way Keith shivers when Shiro slowly pulls down his briefs, the way his cock bounces against his stomach, so hard and so pretty that Shiro’s mouth waters at the sight of it.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

“Eloquent,” Keith says, probably going for a mocking tone, but any edge it might have had is taken away immediately when Shiro takes hold of his cock, giving it a slow stroke, and the lowest, most guttural groan Shiro has heard from him so far rips out of him.

“Jesus, Keith,” he rasps, and makes quick work of pulling down his own pants just enough for his cock to spring free. He lowers himself enough for the friction to be just perfect, takes hold of both of them and slowly starts thrusting against Keith. So, so slowly that he can see the frustration growing on Keith’s face, eyebrows drawing together.

“Come on,” he huffs, trying to thrust up, to make it faster, but Shiro places a hand on his hip, stopping him. He honestly has no idea where this newfound slow teasing is coming from, because he’s dying to just thrust against Keith hard and fast, dying to feel him, see him come undone; but something is telling him that if he does that, this is going to be over sooner than he wants it to be. His hand squeezes Keith’s hip harder, pinning him to the bed, and Keith gasps. The way he says, “Shiro,” sounds equally like a warning and an invitation.

Shiro keeps the pace, thrusting slowly against Keith’s cock, sliding his hand up every so often to thumb at his slit. He squeezes them together a bit harder sometimes, thrusting harder and faster, but never long enough; Keith is a mess under him, one shaking hand grabbing the sheets next to him, the other scratching at Shiro’s back, moaning so loud whenever Shiro picks up the pace that he’s sure they would be heard if the music outside wasn’t so loud.

“Shiro, come on – move, move faster –”

“You want me to move faster?” Shiro asks, and he sounds just a little bit more composed than he feels.

“Yeah, fuck, please –” Keith tries to thrust up again, but Shiro’s holding him firmly in place. And the look on his face, fuck, Shiro’s resolve is crumbling like a dry sand castle.

He leans down to drag his mouth over Keith’s, goes to kiss his exposed throat.

“I think I need a little more convincing,” Shiro murmurs, nipping at the warm skin lightly.

“Shiro…” Keith whines, wrecked. “Please, please, come on, fuck, I’ve wanted – wanted this for so long, thought about it so much, what you would feel like, you’re so – so good, fuck, please –”

The last of Shiro’s self-control crumbles. He groans into Keith’s neck, squeezes their cocks tighter, and starts grinding down in earnest. He lets go of Keith’s hip, and the change is instant and so fucking amazing that Shiro knows it was worth it to hold out this long. Keith immediately grabs his free hand, clutching it against the sheets; his other hand remains on Shiro’s ass, squeezing it and thrusting his hips up with every movement.

“Keith,” Shiro whines, “you don’t know – you don’t even know how good you look right now, fuck –”

Keith moans. “Shiro – Shiro, I’m – I’m going to –” His expression is changing slowly, mouth falling open, eyebrows drawing together, and it’s the hottest thing Shiro has ever seen.

“It’s okay,” he pants, “me too, I’m – come with me, Keith,” he gasps, and as Keith’s eyes squeeze shut, Shiro’s thrusts become frantic, their movements out of sync now, but it’s so, so incredibly good, and he can feel Keith’s body arching, can hear his staccato moans as he comes all over Shiro’s hands in spurts, feels the build-up in his own belly, so he hides his face in Keith’s neck, biting down as he comes seconds after.

His arm gives out; he collapses on top of Keith, panting, post-orgasm bliss clouding his head too much to say anything.

They lay there for a minute, getting their breathing under control. When he finally rolls off Keith and looks at him, he’s expecting for the panic to hit him, the realization of what they’ve done to sink in; but it doesn’t come. All he feels as he looks at Keith is a kind of happiness he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

(Maybe not ever, but he’s sobered up too much now to entertain that thought for too long.)

And he’s so relieved to see the same serenity reflecting on Keith: his smile reaches all the way up to his eyes, making them shine impossibly bright. His makeup is a bit smudged now, which is as much endearing as it is a physical reminder of what they’ve done.

“I’m really glad we did that,” Keith says eventually.

Shiro laughs. “Me too. It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Keith nods, smiling.

“I feel like I should be panicking about you being Kiki’s teacher, though, but I’m – not? And I don’t think it’s the alcohol, either, I just feel like I’m… past worrying, kind of.”

“I won’t be her teacher next year,” Keith shrugs. “Only six more months or so.” He grins. “Then she’s all Lance’s.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot he taught second grade,” Shiro laughs. “Six months though – I can deal with keeping it low until –” he stops, then, cheeks growing hot as he realizes what he just implied. “I mean, we haven’t discussed – I’m not saying this means we are definitely – if you don’t want to, of course, it’s –”

Keith cuts him off with a kiss. “Shiro. I think we both know this wasn’t just a one-time thing. I really like you and I want to be with you. If you want to be with me, too, that is.”

Shiro exhales. Laughs. “Yeah, I – yeah, I do. I really, really do. I – I like you, too, very much.”

Keith smiles, snuggles up to him, tucks his face into Shiro’s neck.

“I’m glad you showed us that game, you know, at Hunk’s. You were so adorably flustered it made me, like, fifty percent more sure that you were into me. And fifty percent more confident to sit on the kitchen counter and wait for you for half an hour and open my legs like a slut.”

“Oh, my God,” Shiro laughs. “You planned that?”

“Yeah. That’s how desperately thirsty I’ve been for you since the moment you barged into my class with that stupid lunch box.”

“Keith,” Shiro whines, turning to hide his face in the pillow.

“You’re adorable,” Keith laughs, pressing a soft kiss under Shiro’s jaw. “I’m making it my life’s mission to make you flustered from now on.” He pauses. “By the way, we’ve been gone for a while now, so get ready for significant looks and getting teased by the others for the rest of the night.”

Shiro groans. “Can we stay here instead?”

Keith answers by pulling the blanket over them, tucking himself under Shiro’s chin.

“For as long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments always appreciated. Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://szoraya.tumblr.com) if you wanna :)


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